


You're a magician now, you're a merm now

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [23]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Body Horror, Gen, Mental Instability, Mermification, Panic Attacks, slight shipping if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Something something something becoming a merm is Valid, even if you forget your name and basically everything else





	You're a magician now, you're a merm now

**Author's Note:**

> Klei u better let me become a merm on the ps4 soon

A low gurgle in his throat, in the deep of his chest and huffed out between gills and all too disfigured teeth, incomprehensible and not even words by now, his tongue didn't work anymore, there were no more words-

Perhaps his hysteria was caught up on, finned ears flaring and sliding layered eyelids closed with a vain hiss of sound, trembling ever so slightly, but the hands on him kept their presence and their owner kept him still.

Even with these changes he weighs practically nothing, even with new additions, and it hadn't been a challenge at all for the man to tackle him down and pin him with his own body weight, stocky, short body more than enough to keep his older, thinner bones down.

The spined fins on his back had thankfully flattened before he had his back shoved to the swampy ground, wet and soft and oozing onto his clothing, his rich, dapper clothing. The suit has taken more than a beating, was ripped all to hell when the curse had started taking affect, but back then he had been trying to fix it up, cover his mistakes.

One too many by now. He didn't even know how exactly he has gotten here.

The thread of confusion marked with the itchiness of his scaling, the ooze of the marsh too lesser to ease it out, made him suddenly snap open his almost blind eyes and wither about, hissing and snapping his jaws in a frenzy as he arched his back and kicked out his legs, clawing furrows into the mud. The ragged remains of shoes still clung to him, the reminder infuriating and very suddenly it was as if he was stricken with rage, hot and wrong and so full of violence.

Anger, madness, at everything, everyone; somewhere in the back of his mind was a voice telling him he couldn't be cured, that there was no going back. He'd be rough and scaly and a monster for the rest of his untold upon time here, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The arm held against his throat put more pressure down, choking and spitting as his gills flared and lashing out with his claws, leather gloves long ripped and pulled apart, but the man had armor upon him and all it did was clash with an ugly sound and dull, aching pain in his hands. The helmet was familiar, all too familiar, of lava and smoke and sweat, swine all about, and the sudden memory of it, the sudden memory the flash of-

_-a man yanked him to his feet, face a tight frown and already looking about them, spinning to look for any others, and Maxwell had pressed a hand to his chest where the acid had eaten through but was gone now, overgrown and wilting as vines flaked off his new skin, and with a sudden shove the other man pushed him back into the fight, a call over his shoulder as he jogged to another downed fighter-_

-it was enough to make him go limp.

Hissing, wheezing in breathes, staring into the dark, swirling sky above them as the memory surfaced and stayed there, clear and yet not so much, and his finned ears closed up tight to his head as he felt the man move on top of him, shift his heavy weight and cause sore, bruising pain to bloom upon his weak scaling, bones too thin to take much to break. The helmet seemed to hold an aura, heavy and wavering with heat lines, and it was hard to focus his gaze and even harder to try and familiarize himself with the man, try to know who it was.

As if he had any memory left for anyone, not even enough for himself.

When the arm pressed to his throat shifted away, hesitant, his claws twitched in the mud and he hissed in a deep breath, gills flaring open before he snapped his jaws together with a loud, horrid sound, bone teeth grating against each other, and the sudden wave of vulnerability, of sudden submission and the wave of heated danger aura from the helm, was enough to chill his bones.

Instinct, of something slimy and yet not, toothy and protective and marsh worthy, rose up in his throat and he squeezed mud in between his claws as he slid his eyes shut and bared his throat, gurgling in breath and starting to shake terribly.

It wasn't coherent thought in him, barely there at all, all but cursed fog and the constant itch of scale growth, of wanderlust and staggering about, as if trying to find something, but here and now his thoughts felt more solid, this presence with a warm, breathing mammalian, a man with a lava forged helm that had taken him down and asserted dominance so quickly.

Memory assured him of civilized behavior, but whatever the curse had done to him was addling and dizziness with its changes.

In some way or another, it felt as if he had already lost his mind and was ailing from such a failure.

This allure of thought, weak and cold in his mind as that lost confusion welled up in his chest once more, claws digging into swamp mud, it made him gurgle and pitch out more sound, involuntary almost wheezed chirps and hisses of high pitched, distressed sound, and it wasn't fully comprehensible but he was shaking even more, everything in his so very suddenly terribly afraid.

He didn't know why, but he was so very afraid.

“Hush…”

Sound, voice, and it made him tremble even more and press his head back, try to bare his throat up in blind submission, everything in him wanting the situation to end and the cold, slimy curse of him only knowing of this way, of giving up, giving in, to let him go, please let him go please don't hurt him-

His hissing was growing in wheezed whines, distressed hiccups of burbled sound that made his throat ache and the air inhaled from both mouth and gills all too chill, eyes shut tight as everything started to become too much, too loud and full and heavy, so very heavy-

“I said hush.”

It all came to a horrid halt, silent emptiness, with a hand on his face, curved along his cheek and pressed all too warmly against his scales.

He had forgotten to breathe, for a moment, the sudden feeling of touch, of warm pressure, not in heavy aggression or bullying but something just there, it was almost too much.

He wheezed out a soundless sound, almost a wail with unhinged, sharp toothed jaws, before snapping his maw closed and hissing wildy, chaotically, automatically pulling his arms to his chest and dragging his claws into the ruined remains of his suit. He could do nothing to himself, soft claws against soft scales, and the confusion from the other man wasn't even noticed as his distress got the better of him and he curled his arms about his chest, shaking even more.

But that didn't stop him from leaning his face into the touch, exhaling a wild, fearful breath at its all too muchness, warmth and softness and earthen auras, smells that he's forgotten in swamp and mold and vile mud.

Clay was so much more than oil slicked mud, earthenware and organic composure, and the part of him not fully consumed by the curse understood this, understood the ways of warm blood and warmer carbon, air flow and plant breath and searching roots, lungs filling with air as new created life blinked for the first time.

It was hidden deep, almost ravaged apart, but when he nuzzled into that hand it rose up fitfully in his chest and it settled like it had never left in the first place, sudden memory-

_-first snow, new and fleeting as snowflakes drifted into his hands, antlers heavy and laden with leaves that reached behind him as cape and gown. There was movement, haste as the sprite darted about, almost floating with his excitement of the cold, even if Maxwells own veins ran with the chill of hibernation and exhaustion. With plant life coming to a long sleep, his energy was waning, but the other man's had kicked off, the frost almost invigorating as he leapt about, blue and ice colors dazzling in a way he hasn't seen much before. Frost bitten earth was already underfoot, bare feet easily feeling the energy of the plants slow down, but the other man came hopping back with snow and dirt in his hands, a wicked smile upon his face that he only recognized just before getting a faceful of snow thrown into his face, the mans cackles chill and twinkling like shards of ice, clean and bright with the approaching winter-_

-a calming blanket, relaxing his limbs, and the chill the curse had oozing in between his bones fled away, to the deeper parts of his mind.

The hand on his face didn't move, thumb rubbing warm, soft circles into his scaling and making his shuddering breaths ease out, and his grip on his own arms untensed.

It was as if a weight was lifted from him, left him limp and weak and light headed, shallow minded as dull colors swirled behind his eyelids and the only thing important, the only thing in the entirety of his universe, was of this warm palm and warm, firm weight upon him, pinning him into soft mud that swirled lavender as his mind drifted and sank with a mercy he hasn't been given in such a long, long time.

-

The curse whispered, hued blackened and slick with rot, and he swayed a moment as he forgot what exactly he was doing.

“Ah, thanks for getting that.”

What he had in hand was taken with swift deftness, no struggle as he watched the man turn a knife about and start to slice up the vegetable, blinking a set of eyelids in blurriness for a moment before the ease of presence set his memory back to him.

If he was gone too long, he'd forget, but his mind pushed such thoughts away for now. No reason to ruin the moment.

Drifting closer, gills flaring as he kept his jaw shut tight, teeth aching deep in the roots of his bones, he leaned over to watch the man reach about, gather objects and ingredients to dump into a thick iron pot. A part of him remembered something, tingling in the back of his mind, and his claws twitched as he shuffled forward, distracted.

_-he knew what he was doing, just throw some things together, it really wasn't that hard, cooking has never been complicated, and this damnable place should be just fine with just about any recipe, Maxwell had nothing to worry about-_

“You want to help?”

He froze, claws outstretched, as the man looked at him with a face he could not recognize and a voice he felt too little familiarity with, before pulling away from the vegetables, a low hiss deep in his throat as his finned ears flattened, jaw loosening to gurgle out frustrated sound. A sharp twist of his head, tilting his nose up and flaring his gills as he went silent, all sorts of irritation and low bubbling anger rising from his chest to his throat, and he narrowed his eyes when the man spoke more but the words were nothing but babble as his own mind seethed.

It angered him, this frustration, this mental block that he couldn't figure out how to push forward from. He knew it was the fog of the curse, knew it wasn't anybody's fault but his own, but this didn't stop his swaying agitation and hunching of his shoulders, a low sound from the back of his throat. Already he could feel that cold chill, rash of sore itch, creeping back up on him.

The hand on his shoulder shocked him out of the encroaching mist, stiffening into a surprised freeze before jerking his head around to look at the shorter man, blinking layered eyelids and flaring open his finned ears as he took a few deep, calming breaths. The warmth of such a simple touch was all too easing, all too easy to lean into, though words still failed him and it was a low hiss from his throat as the man gave him a thin look and held his light weight.

A part of him grew even worse at his limpness, his lack of function, but the larger part, lost and foggy and all too sensitive, was easy to sway with only the light touch and he bowed his head, eyes closing in instinctive submission.

Dignity lost to the curse a long time ago, and the only thing keeping him going was the brief moments where he got whatever this was from another person.

“...Help me out, alright?”

Softly, sadly, something that twisted in his chest at the hopeless tone and knowing where it was pinpointed to, but he caught his balance as the hand drew away and flicked open his eyes as the man handed him some sort of ingredient, covered with thin shelling, and demonstrated with patience how to peel it off. His claws shook a bit, leftover emotion and his own lack of abilities, but he took the thing in hand and set to work with a low gurgle of sound, eyeing its white, layered interior.

A pat on his shoulder, quick and comforting, and it was automatic for his wheezed, almost whistled response, a sound he's never made before but came out as affirmative anway. It didn't bother him in the slightest, instinctive as it was, but the man next to him blinked at the sound before shaking his head and getting back to his chopping.

Rhythmic as it was, the fog couldn't creep through, warm presence of the man at his side, a comforting silence.

Maybe today was going to be clearer than usual.

-

Highly degrading, such a crumbling from what he once was, but his trembling was all too much and his hissing breath, wheezed and raw and all too strained, was too much for him to bare.

A gurgle, from the deep of his throat, a smothering of fog and thick mist and even worse, blackened tar, and yet all he had done was curl up as small as he could and try to hide himself away. It didn't help, not at all, with choking slime and shuddering breaths, everything in his core shaking and broken, into little itty bitty pieces.

They were scattered about him, mind oozing under the strain of cursed fog, cursed whispers, cursed gnawing hunger and pain and madness, and he had tried so hard to catch them with his hands but now he had claws, webbed talons instead and they held nothing.

The steady pressure on his back, a hand keeping a warm anchor to his thin spine and flattened ribbed fins, it was only this that kept him from clawing himself apart.

Yet his claws twitched, dug into the mud of the marsh and let soggy earth ooze between and over his scales, that inner violence raising its head, and the keening sound from his jagged, toothy lips was a wail of garbling that had no comprehension, was nothing, nothing at all.

There were no words from the man kneeling by his side, no answer to his wails, and he closed his eyes tight and pressed his disfigured face to the mud, finned ears closing up and gills flaring for air as the cool, oil slicked chill seeped over his abominable scaling. Unanswerable, unknowable, uncared for, and instead of seething in his chest the suddenness of it, slowly soaking into the back of his mind with a sharp chill, through the crevices of his monstrous molded brain, was a deadened cloud of void.

It left him ragged, shaking, heaving out hisses of breath as his body untensed, letting himself sink ever so slightly into mud.

That hand moved, circled almost soothingly slow, taking a moment as he panted for breath to touch and trail along his closed spine fins, curving and feeling about with warm trailing blazes. All focus was belonging to his back, to the touch, the comfort, the feeling of it all for once, and he wheezed out another sound, distressed and lost and full of confused pain.

The ache there, worse than it had once been, worse now with the time already bent upon it but yet eaten away from his brain, leaving empty space, and his memory failed him but-

_-it had almost become unbearable, an itching stabbing horrid spread that burned through Maxwell's spine, worsening every time that sun touched the horizon in a downward dip to only rise up from the darkness a few hours later. This pain was familiar, usually was manageable, but now suddenly it felt like molten lava was pouring itself right into the middle of his backbone, trying to not disgrace himself, even alone as he was, into withering on the ground, feeling this maddening sensation that locked up his chest and made it harder and harder to breathe. Even when it finally elevated it was with sudden sharp pain, a rip of bone and muscle and biology not at all human, knees in the mud and muck and just trying to catch his breath as whatever he now had stung in the stagnant air, too new and underdeveloped, pressing stiff hands to his face and trying to get himself under control.-_

There was nothing he could do to get his mind back. It was all corrupt, all of it shrouded in nasty cursed fog only of pain and mixed remembering, and he hissed out a thin wail, shoulders starting to shake and tremble at this empty revelation.

Nothing left, and it felt as if it was seeping from behind his disfigured teeth, dribbling down his scaly skin, and he hacked out a cough, gills flaring and finned ears snapping open before one closed as he lay his head to the side, mud sliding off his smooth, small scales.

The man was watching him, expression unreadable to his hole ridden mind, and he hissed out a low sound, almost wheezed as it trembled in his lungs, gills wavering. Narrowed his eyes, bared his teeth in some sort of empty anger, hurt, webbed claws digging into the marsh mud as he curled himself up even more, ruined suit soaking with the mud and gunks of this wretched place.

He found it all too hard to be watching someone whose face fell in such a way, was so solemn, and he hissed out a cry of mixed sound, too full of emotion that swirled in his chest and itched the back of his mind before flattening his finned ears and hunching his shoulders, pulling his clawed hands up to hide his face and attempt to bury himself into the shallow mud.

It was ragged shaking, hysterical hissing wheezes that clipped and gargled in his throat as he panted for breath and felt all too much, all too afraid.

Memory was already flayed and crumbled, his past day or so gone, empty, void, and the knowledge of that nothingness in his head, forgotten time, made him even more distressed.

The how of him getting to this point, wailing in the mud with a man he barely remembered keeping a steady hand on his back and even steadier eye on him, was lost to him. He couldn't remember.

Now all he was left with was the aching broil of feeling in his chest, the itching crawl of his own scales and the ever gnawing, digging, pain filled hole in his gut, the emptiness in his head.

The only thing he knew was that this would never end. There was no cure for this plague, and he knew, knew it in the way of the accursed. There was nothing to be done.

A sigh caught his ears as he fell into ragged hiccups of bubbling, whining hisses as he kept his eyes closed, the mud against his face almost, almost, so close to being soothing. He didn't move, just shuddered in another breath for more cries, almost sobs, as the hand moved up from his back, between his shoulder blades and over that abominable spine fin, warm and steady and just there, for once.

He heaved his own sigh, shook violently a moment as the back of his head, his scaled neck, the brush of touch against his folded finned ears, and it was almost automatic to just.

Give up, relax.

Degrading, dignity long lost, and this clung to him a moment before the hand laid upon his head, a warm presence as the man shuffled about with low noise before seating himself down, close.

He didn't open his eyes, the energy, the everything gone, but his arms relaxed from his face and he breathed deep, gills opening and closing naturally as the sense of touch washed over him.

His claws twitched, a hint of delayed feeling as he realized he was being practically pet, as if a small, young animal to the man, the memory-

_-the vermin was cradled in the man's arms, long bushy tail curled about as it purred and rubbed and kneaded its raccoon hand claws, and Maxwell huffed his distaste for it nearby but decided against saying a word. After all, even from here, he could see the other man smiling.-_

-rising with a weak spark of anger, irritation, but that fell away as the soothing motions continued.

He's been alone for far too long. And he knew it, knew it even in this haze of memory fog; just a slight touch, of affection or otherwise, was enough to melt him like butter, become soft and malleable.

Clay, to be shaped into whatever was desired.

But he was not of the pure sort, was speckled with chunks of slime and scales, teeth and talons and oil. All too hardened by the sun, by the air, and everything in him whispered in the all encompassing voice of himself, warning him; it is far too late.

But that didn't stop the man from touching him, freely giving him comfort, freely being here, with him, and a moment later fingers entangled with one of his mud covered finned hands and clasped them together, warm and there, and all too real.

He hissed out something like a sob, ducking his head but stilling in the end, feeling every breath of air from his gills and between his teeth chill and cold and empty.

His mind was addled with empty madness, and further he drifted no matter how much warmth, physical touch, anchoring of reality as it all was that tried to keep him close, down.

He had been losing himself well before the gnawing curse, slowly but surely. This just made it all the worse, stronger, meaner, crueler in its ways.

No matter the hand settling on his head, the brush of a thumb against abominably twisted finned ears, nor the one keeping his webber talons entangled with warm, clear, living life, the back of his own mind, under no sway of the curse but only of it's very own wording, continued to reassure him.

It was too late 

-

Gasped, panting wheezes as he pressed himself back, the darkness all encompassing and smothering and a horrid, detached blanket. The tent behind him was all too stocky to collapse from his ill weight, thin and boney and weak, yet its fabric gave against his back a moment before keeping steady, his blindness from the night barely any use at all. Fireflies, small and in even smaller groups, lights dim and fading in this deadened place, flickered about, all too spaced out for anything to be clearly seen, and yet that wasn't at all what he was worried for.

More detached terror, horror, absolute panic and fear that shook his shoulders and puffed up his fins, gills flaring for breath as his claws covered his toothy mouth as best as he could, the pain in his jaw sparking even more.

He had been asleep only a short while ago, curled up near to the tent but not too close, and no one knew of his sleeping patterns and places of rest, how easy it was now to just curl up and let darkness drift him away, instead of rip him apart from the inside out.

A monster, like this, so changed into another cursed inhabitant, had its bonuses.

He wished to have never been given such a boon, to go back to the old days, but he was too late for that. Too late.

He hacked out a wheeze, strained with shaking, trembling horror as the wave of emotion flooded through his chest again, choked in his throat, and it wasn't night he was seeing but memory-

_-he had been coughing up teeth for days now, blood and spit having to be hacked out and expelled when his mouth flooded and that sharp pain ripped from the roots of his jawbone. Leaning on the hoe over the ill kept ground, the tilling doing little for the ugly vegetables and gnarled, rotten products of this diseased land, he almost choked as something solid blocked his airway, having just looked up a moment to catch sight of the setting sun. When Maxwell finally spit it out the molar glistened in the dirt, blood dripping in one long string from his mouth as he coughed, and when he finally straightened up with tightly strained breaths, heart pounding in his chest, his mouth felt all too empty and wrong with its lose.-_

-and such a memory haunted him with organic pain and dizzying lights, sun and heat and how he could almost, almost feel that damnable tool still in his hands, the nightmare not at all extinguished by wakefulness.

His jaw hurt, sharp jagged teeth even more so, deep in the roots with a creeping chill and buzzing, stinging shard of pain, and his hands shook as he put pressure on them to try and ease the aching, thin layered eyelids slowly closing up as the pain increased tenfold.

He was shaking so much, violent trembling and shivering that made the world unbalanced, and yet the pain seemed to increase, almost dreamlike in quality as it reached thin foggy arms through his nerves.

He had to shake his head, violently, wheezing in gasps of hysteria as the slime rot of the curse sunk into the gaps of his diseased brain, eased into just the wrong places. The mist that came with it would eat everything up, devour in constant hunger and leave him empty of memory, of thought, nothing but aggression and hissing and rage, madness.

He didn't want that back again, he didn't want to stumble and wander about, looking for something lost and consumed, he didn't want it, no no no no-

His wail of sound was shrill, garbled and moaned in a hiss as he dragged his webbed claws against his finned ears, closed his eyes as his hysteria slipped from his throat, heart pounding unevenly in his chest as he gnashed his teeth and heaved for air, the everything of rot and slime and the very curse itself encroaching and wanting, possessive as he curled his knees to his chest and hissed and cried out inhuman sound. 

He barely noticed the ruckus he was causing, wrapped in slimy strings of the curse as he shook his head, claws framing the sides of his head as he tried to get it out, get it out of him, get it out get it out get it _out of me-_

Hands shocked him back as if he had jumped from a high dive straight into concrete, sudden and jarring and painful, gills flaring open and close, open and close with each breath, the very color of his insides exposed due to his distress and terror.

The lantern light was not even processed, practically nothing was being processed, tired, slightly afraid voice babbled to him and hand tight on his shoulder, tight on ruined suit and underlying scaling. He jerked around his head, wide eyed and staring into nothing, before finding a face in the darkness and focusing, for a moment, on the one thing that this wretched world has given him that didn't set him to ruin.

They were both frozen, his heart in his throat, watching, waiting for response, before a sudden ark of pain swam in his jaw and he shook, even worse than last time as he cringed away, cowered back even as the man followed with him, steady hand still on his shoulder 

“Hey, hey, is everything okay?”

He couldn't understand he couldn't understand he couldn't-

_-his hands shook, gloves off for once as he narrowed his gaze at hints of scales, thin split webbing bubbling with traces of ooze inbetween his fingers, at the pain in his nails and the red swelling in between, and he hissed in a breath through tightly clenched teeth as he curled and uncurled his fingers, the pain blooming in his joints before a blister burst and blood ran down his hand, over his palm and down, to quench the grass as Maxwell looked on.-_

Something about his next cry of distress, memory and nightmare enfusing into something worse and crooked and corrupt, was shrill and broken and utterly, completely full of painful madness, claws burning with inflamed pain, and the fog swept in with a roll of its chains and he was drowning, he was drowning, he was-

_-the goat sniffed down at Maxwells curled form, shaking and writhing with pain as the grand teeth of the sky clashed and roared and scraped together. If he had been more conscious he'd have known her distaste for him, would have practically tasted it in the air, but instead he seized as bone and skin and muscle tore, blood oozing into free air as the curse finally, finally flew into full effect, mind wrestling with smothering hot pain and something dark, mist shadow and hungry, so very hungry. A snort down at him, accompanied by a loud Baa, before she turned away, her own gifted dish in hand, and he was able to hear the horrid thing in the sky as it rumbled its pleasure, was able to see one last glimpse of her looking back to him with empty, hopeless eyes, before everything started to happen at once-_

-and then, very suddenly, it all came to a halt.

Warmth, dirt and sweat and living air, eyes stinging and face stinging and chest probably even worse, knowing his suit was even more destroyed this time, ripped apart by his own frenzied, mad addled claws, as if an attempt to tear his own scaling off in bloody layers.

He could feel arms wrapped about him, his face buried into a shoulder, feeling breath rise, slow and steady, against his broken, wheezing gasps.

The suddenness of knowledge, fogged as it was, made him tense up, silent still as his eyes flashed open, fins flaring along with his dry gills.

But the man just held him tighter, kept him close to the presence of warmth and confusion, and he slowly, slowly but surely, was starting to feel calmer than he had all night, harsh gasping so uneven compared to normal, still human breath.

His flared ears slipped closed, layers of eyelids slowly sliding shut before his limp arms, stinging and wrong but still his, rose up to grip onto thick clothing, dirty and yet ready for anything, anything at all.

Even something as pathetic and broken, hissing, wheezy as he.

It sent a shudder of frozen feeling down his spine, ice water flowing through the cracks, but the man tightened his firm hug up and almost instantly the feeling fled, fear and hurry melting down as he went limp into the steady hold.

Deep shuddering breath, through aching teeth and an even more aching jaw, and after a moment the man pressed his face closer to his in silence, to his cold, almost slimy and rough scales, his face wrong and twisted and disjointed, all corruption growth.

The feeling was absolute, was something warm and soft and pressured, something he's not felt for so, very, very long, and he was practically boneless in the mans hold, the warmth and touch and everything else as he was held seeping into his very bones as the slimy curse was swept out to the very back nooks and crannies of his mind.

It was silent, silent save the lanterns humming, yet after a moment a fitful warmth, swirling and full of haste, twitching him closer and burying his face close to a warm and breathing steady neck, rose in his throat and the sound that whispered from him wasn't words, wasn't worded, but it was there nonetheless.

A quiet, hued whistle, trill, almost bubbled but not enough water, and it was instinctive, not his own, yet he found himself not being able to give a damn, already wheezing in a breath for a second try.

It was the only thing he could do, the only sound in him that at least tried.

His whistling hisses were laced with feeling, laced with so much, and yet all he could do was press closer, try to chase the nightmares away and thus keep them off.

They'd not be gone for long, cursed fog to slither back in and ooze into his joints, into his aching pain, but for right now they had crept away.

And kept their distance, if only for this short amount of time.

-

It was cold, tonight.

He shivered, arms hugging his rugged, shredded clothing tighter to himself. Scales, no matter how tough, were no protection to such things as winter chill and ice winds from the north. Even in this place, so detached from his former haven, the seasons continued in their changes, and unfortunately he was going to be here long enough to see a full cycle through.

There was no doubt on his survival; human, and he'd be having problems, cursed, and instead the royal teeth of the sky wyrm kept him safe, alive. The plague was its child, the accursed children, and he was now a part of that, no matter if he wanted to be or not.

Looking out over the ruins of some lost civilization, the memories of it long forgotten and eaten holes in his own mind, the sky grey and cloudy as the wyrm slumbered, its own hunger sated for now, he found himself shivering ever so slightly.

He hated this vile place.

Behind him was their camp, the bustle quiet since two have left, off to their own business. He still couldn't remember their names, place their faces, but the familiarity of it sent almost manic shudders up his spine and sparked in his mind, the curses fog driven away from the ice burn.

He hated being here, too, especially here.

But with the fog gone there was coherent thought, there was some sort of understanding that was beginning to bleed through, and if he left he'd lose it all in a blink of an eye. One night out in the darkness without company and he'd regress, degenerate into mist and instinct and explosive thought. 

More than that and he didn't think he'd ever return back from such a place, to stumble forever as a behemoth wyrms offspring, in violence and territorial frustration, irrational bestial mindscapes. The colors there were dull and yet all too vibrant, twisted, and the sound was whispers and lies and siren song, the wyrms lullaby. 

He couldn't escape it forever, but mindful as he was now, in his right mind even, he'd choose this high stress environment over a forever of aching void. 

There was sound behind him, footsteps in mud and on dry autumn leaves, and his webbed ears flicked and gills flared as he froze, waited for an announcement.

The clearing of a throat, hesitant, before a hand on his arm, companionable as he tilted his head to look at the man accompanying him out here, in the chill wind.

Said man looked tired, bags heavy under his eyes and wrinkled face exhausted, and his ears pinned back as he grit his jaw and blinked layered eyelids at him, silencing his own inner sounds. Perhaps he was easy to read, or maybe just getting easier with time, but the man gave him a small, lopsided smile, turning away to look off into the valley of ruins, hand still holding to him warmly.

His worn clothing, ripped with holes and claw markings and teeth, dried with mud and old blood, wasn't at all what it once was in its great dapperness, a trait he mourned internally the instant he had remembered the word, the worth of something dapper unto himself. The man had offered to perhaps patch it up, indicated with his sewing kit how exactly it would work out, but he hadn't felt ready just yet.

He was not assured in his own complicity, his own domestic ordeal. If he had another fit, a few more even, then that hard work would amount to nothing under his maddened, hideous claws. It would be best to keep the suit from its full dapper glory; the blow of its ruin would haunt him if it should ever happen.

But most of his sleeves were gone, ripped cloth flapping in the wind and leaving his scales exposed, cold and shivering. The man held his arm with a calm, comforting grip, warm and soothing almost, the hole of where the sleeve should be not important enough for the man to care, and he hissed out a quiet sound through his mangled, fanged teeth, a moment passing before he leaned ever so slightly into the grip.

His action was not unexpected, and the man huffed out a sigh as he adjusted himself into holding the both of them up, looking up into the grey, cloud choked sky.

He didn't know how long this would last, but, glaze sliding over to the self proclaimed scientist and doctor, all sorts of quiet exhaustion and calmed fatigue, a drag in the air that made this world's atmosphere all the stuffier, he supposed it could be worse.

A flash, of almost possibility, of the man next to him coated in scales and hissing, glaring huge fins and hostile talons, and his own finned ears closed as he hissed out a huff of gurgling, water thick sound, warmth seeping from the light touch between them.

It could be much worse.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Those grammar errors are on purpose btw


End file.
